


Slow Like Honey

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Hook-Up, Jazz Singer Yahaba, M/M, Nightclub AU, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki can't believe his luck as he lands in the one bar in town with the most alluring singer. And that singer is looking at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 30 Day NSFW Challenge: Day 9 - Against the Wall. The pairing was requested by le-amewzing on Tumblr.

“You moved like honey in my dream last night. Yeah, some old fires were burning. You came near to me and you endeared to me, but you couldn't quite discern me.”

The words of the song caress the air of the nightclub as Hanamaki Takahiro takes a long drag of his well-earned nightcap. After an exhausting, shit-tacular week at work, a little bit of jazz and juice are exactly what he needs to unwind.

He never counted on the singer, though. This guy is something else.

“Does that scare you? I'll let you run away, but your heart will not oblige you. You'll remember me like a melody, yeah, I'll haunt the world inside you.”

Hanamaki is transfixed by the sultry quality of the singer’s voice, smooth as the song’s honeyed namesake, but what he cannot look away from are his _hands._ Long, tapered fingers wrap around the microphone while the other moves in perfect harmony with the music. It is as if Hanamaki is witnessing an emotion translated for the eyes and ears to process.

His skin prickles when the singer makes eye contact with him and sings, “And my big secret, gonna win you over. Slow like honey, heavy with mood.”

Watching as the singer’s pale hand inches further down the black fabric of his waistcoat, Hanamaki gulps when it fists around the buckle of his belt and long eyelashes brush against milky cheeks.

The fabric of Hanamaki’s trousers feels too tight, and he’s fairly certain his skin is a few measly degrees from combustion. But he knows he’s really in trouble when luminous brown eyes flutter open and stare a hole straight through Hanamaki’s soul.

“I'll let you see me,” he sings. “I'll covet your regard.” Slowly, languidly, the singer whose name Hanamaki desperately wants to know saunters across the sprinkling of other clientele as if they don’t exist. Straight towards Hanamaki. “I'll invade your demeanor, and you'll yield to me like a scent in the breeze. And you'll wonder what it is about me.

“It's my big secret, keeping you coming.” In front of Hanamaki, the singer’s mouth curves into a knowing smile as he drags the pads of his fingers down the side of Hanamaki’s frozen face. “Slow like honey, heavy with mood.”

Hanamaki can’t even hide his arousal as this ethereal creature turns away, hip jutting to the side as he casts one last glance at Hanamaki before making his way back to the battered old piano. He barely registers the lyrics of the song now; he hears and sees everything about it through the singer’s graceful, expressive voice.

There is a smattering of applause, but Hanamaki does not clap. He can’t. Not when the singer’s eyes are fixed on his own. Not looking away from Hanamaki, the singer says, “Thank you for coming this evening. My name is Yahaba Shigeru, and it’s been a pleasure —” The word rolls off Yahaba’s tongue and makes Hanamaki shiver. “— to entertain you tonight.”

 _Yahaba Shigeru_ , Hanamaki mouths to himself, deciding to commit the name to memory like he would his phone number or address.

After Yahaba disappears into the back of the bar, Hanamaki feels his loss keenly. In the span of one four-minute song, his entire being has wrapped itself around Yahaba’s slender, sensual finger. He knows he’s a sad piece of work for mooning over a lounge singer, but he can’t even begin to care as he nurses the same tumbler of bourbon he’s had since he sat down.

Hanamaki almost jumps out of his skin when a hand smooths over his shoulder.

“Easy,” an achingly familiar voice says as Yahaba slides into the chair next to Hanamaki. “Last call, by the way.”

His jaw opening and closing as he searches for something to say, it feels like an eternity before Hanamaki is able to croak, “No, I’m good.”

“You certainly are,” Yahaba says with a smirk before he plucks the glass from Hanamaki’s hands and takes a drink. The way his nose wrinkles at the taste might actually be lethal to Hanamaki’s composure. “Wow, that’s really bad.”

“I can’t even taste it,” Hanamaki says truthfully. However, he doesn’t want to admit that he can barely remember his own name with Yahaba this close.

Yahaba merely chuckles. “Lucky you. I’m pretty sure this stuff should be used to mop the floor.” He shrugs and drains the glass. “Let me get you something else, sweetheart.”

Hanamaki’s eyes grow wide, and in a desperate reflex, he reaches out and covers Yahaba’s hand with his own. “Don’t go.”

The plea is almost pathetic, but Hanamaki can’t help it. Now that he has this sublime songbird in his vicinity and only a breath away, he doesn’t want to let go.

A smile unfurls on Yahaba’s lips, and Hanamaki has a feeling it isn’t something he shares often. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve never had someone look at me like I hung the moon before. There’s always someone better and brighter, it seems.”

“But you’re incredible.” Hanamaki’s face reddens all the way up to his scalp at the cheesy line, but it doesn’t matter because he finally feels like he can give something back to Yahaba, a meager offering in repayment for the song that has enveloped his soul in honey.

There is a dusting of pink on Yahaba’s pale cheeks, and Hanamaki’s heart trips and falls down a hundred stairs in response. “God, you’re so beautiful. It’s not even fair.”

Yahaba looks at him, eyes wide, before he stands and leans over to whisper, “Meet me at the back door in twenty minutes,” Into Hanamaki’s ear before sashaying towards the back room, hips swaying.

The next twenty minutes are the longest in Hanamaki’s life as he paces a hole in the bricks in the alley behind the bar.

When Yahaba emerges, Hanamaki’s lungs abandon him.

Long, lean legs sheathed in close-fitting jeans, with oversized cardigan slung haphazardly over a form-hugging tee, Yahaba can’t be any more different than the intangible beauty from inside. But he’s more than that. Soft. Approachable. _Here_.

Yahaba’s smile is soft and shy, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor, as he holds out a hand and says, “You want to get out of here?”

Hanamaki takes Yahaba’s outstretched hand and mechanically follows him to the curb to hail a cab. Soon, they’re shoulder to shoulder, going wherever Yahaba has told the driver to go, and Hanamaki cannot care less.

They exit the cab, with Hanamaki paying plus a generous tip because he doesn’t want Yahaba think he’s a douche, and stand in front of an older but nice-looking building that he thinks suits Yahaba well. “This your place?”

“Yeah.” Keying open the front door, he points at his name on the placard. “The second floor is my flat.”

The inside of the flat is nothing like Hanamaki had imagined. There is a gleaming upright piano without a speck of dust, with large expanses of unadorned wall and little else to break apart the monotony of the room. “Did you just move in?”

Yahaba ducks his head. “No. I just don’t spend a lot of money on stuff I don’t need when I’d rather just be writing music. I can practice when I feel like it, because the guy upstairs is never home and the old lady downstairs is almost deaf.”

But this only makes Hanamaki hum and reply, “Sounds like a challenge.”

Yahaba slides his arms around Hanamaki’s shoulders before plunging his fingers into his short locks. “Sounds like you’re right.”

Their lips meet in the middle, and Hanamaki can’t get enough of the taste. They only part for the few seconds it takes to shuck each other’s clothes into a pile of the floor. When Hanamaki sees the creamy slope of Yahaba’s shoulder, he growls and attacks it with his mouth. Yahaba moans and digs his nails into Hanamaki’s sides.

Hanamaki’s kisses trail down Yahaba’s chest until they hit the last stitch of clothing on him. Hands on Yahaba’s hips, Hanamaki slowly eases down his underwear and drags his tongue right behind until he brushes the tip of Yahaba’s swollen cock.

Yahaba reels backwards when Hanamaki’s mouth closes around his length, draping himself breathlessly against the wall. Feeling a rush of power that he’s able to bring Yahaba to this state, he hooks one of Yahaba’s knees over his shoulder and prepares himself for the sensation of his mouth being full of Yahaba.

His length fully ensconced in Hanamaki’s mouth, Yahaba cries out as he rolls his hips, plunging over and over into the back of Hanamaki’s throat. It isn’t the most pleasant thing Hanamaki’s ever done, but it’s worth it to see Yahaba sweating and coming undone in front of him.

Only when Hanamaki can no longer catch his breath does he pull back, eliciting a whine from Yahaba, but it turns into a throaty groan when Hanamaki wipes the drool from his chin and uses it to prod Yahaba’s entrance.

“Please.”

It’s both a request and a command, but Hanamaki is happy to oblige when Yahaba shakily tells him where to find what they need to continue. It’s a simple matter of keeping Yahaba upright as he works him open right there against the wall.

Yahaba is gasping with need above him, and from there on his knees, Hanamaki feels like he is worshiping of this perfect, charming creature, offering himself because it’s all he has to give. Hanamaki reverently splays his hands on Yahaba’s hips as he stands and brushes the softest of kisses. “Ready?” he murmurs as their foreheads touch.

Hanamaki almost falls over when Yahaba yanks them together roughly and hisses, “Fuck me. Now.”

Surprised he doesn’t come there on the spot, Hanamaki grins as he hoists Yahaba against the wall and lets him slide down on to Hanamaki’s cock. Yahaba throws his head back as far as he can and pants while sweat beads on his temple. Hanamaki doesn’t dare move until Yahaba is ready, but when he’s given the curt order to move, he does as he is told with all due enthusiasm.

Legs coil around his waist as Hanamaki thrusts up into Yahaba with every bit of strength he can muster. Profanities pour out of Yahaba’s mouth, surprising and turning on Hanamaki in turn while cannibalizing his previous mental image of a heavenly being in human form.

This, he thinks, is the real Yahaba. Raw, needy, hungry, and demanding.

Hanamaki loves every second of it.

Yahaba comes first onto his own belly, and the feeling of his body convulsing around Hanamaki makes quick work of his own release. Barely able to catch his breath, he holds Yahaba tight as his knees give out and he sinks to the floor panting. Yahaba drapes himself on Hanamaki’s chest and purrs. “Fuck, that was good. Where have you been all my life?”

Hanamaki simply laughs. “I don’t know what’s hotter: you pretending to be some sort of angel, or yelling at me to fuck you until you bleed.”

“Mmm, sounds like a problem.”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll keep me up all night.”

“I’d love it if you could keep it up all night. I can go all day.”

Considering Yahaba’s boneless state, Hanamaki very much doubts that but adores the sentiment as he reluctantly sits up and maneuvers them into the bedroom.

As Yahaba curls into his side, he says to Hanamaki, “I hope you know how to cook. After this, I’m really going to need a big breakfast.”

Hanamaki tosses back his head and laughs until tears come out of his eyes. “I think we’ll figure something out. Or just fuck until lunch. Whichever you’re hungry for, Yaha-chan.”

Yahaba snorts as he buries his body in the pile of covers. Later, however, when Hanamaki thinks he’s the only one still awake, Yahaba says over his shoulder, “You know, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Ha!” Hanamaki is surprise at this oversight but not overly troubled by it. With a sloppy smile, he coos, “Baby, you can call me anything you want.” When Yahaba slaps his shoulder, he finally answers, “Hanamaki. Hanamaki Takahiro.”

With a hum, Yahaba says, “Nice to meet you, Hanamaki Takahiro.”

Hanamaki is barely awake enough to hear when Yahaba adds several minutes later, “Though if you call me ‘baby’ again, the only thing I’m calling you is an ambulance.” But he does, and he falls asleep with a stupid grin on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Slow Like Honey is gratefully borrowed from the talented Miss Fiona Apple. You should check it out.


End file.
